ROCT - A RWBY Spinoff
by AlucardCerbes
Summary: A new story set in the RWBY universe, focusing around team ROCT, composed of transfer students who will be forced to spend a year in each nation and academy. Meet Taupe Heliod; a charming bruiser, Russet Prague; a shy shopkeep, Odan Galinstan; a strict Atlesian recruit, and Carn Vindictae; a dark outcast. Based somewhat loosely off of an RP I run with some of my friends.
1. Volume 0, Chapter 1 - Lights Out

The sound of a jeep coming to a sudden halt outside jolted Taupe awake. He quickly scanned his room for imagined intruders. Sweat rolled down his chest, and his panting seemed to fill the area.

A soft breeze blew through the window, and the curtains fluttered in the wind. Taupe's room was lit only by the full moon, and an offending jeep's headlights. His bed sat in the middle of the room, with some distance between it and his closet. Opposite the closet, a door led out into the manor.

Muttering to himself, Taupe covered his eyes. His voice trailed off as he fell back to his sheets, quickly hiding his eyes from the blinding light with a nearby pillow, waiting for the headlights to turn off.

A minute later, Taupe grimaced, and threw the pillow across the room. It seemed whoever had just arrived at the manor was either attempting to blind him, or simply ignorant. Either way, he would not be able to sleep until the headlights were extinguished.

He sat up and slid his legs out of the covers, feet searching for slippers. Instead, they found the hard boots of his father standing by his bedside. "Up. There are a few men here to see you." With this, the former admiral of Atlas turned on his heels, and left Taupe alone in his room.

A second pillow flew, this time out the window.

Taupe soon found his slippers, and slid them on. They were meant to look like wolf heads, but the fur had begun to fall out in places, and the eyes had long since disappeared, forgotten under some cushion or shelf. Looking around, he could see his pants halfway between himself and the door.

A few powerful strides with his long, sinewy legs brought him to the pants, and he managed to force them on over his slippers. Briefly, he looked towards his closet deciding whether to grab a shirt, but soon shook his head.

Opening the door, Taupe walked out into a brightly lit hallway. The walls were lit by brightly glowing lamps, and between them, six generations of military leaders glared at their descendant. The portrait closest to Taupe's room had a small plaque under it reading _Erebus Heliod - Admiral._ Taupe lazily scratched the painting with one long nail, peeling another layer of paint off. Across from his father's portrait, a blank space on the wall awaited Taupe's military career like a hangman's noose.

Taupe continued down the hall, eventually arriving at the manor's foyer. A group of fully uniformed soldiers stood near Taupe's father, Erebus, all of whom slowly turned to face Taupe.

"Well, what dya want, or are you just going to stare?" Taupe grinned as he said this, showing off his wolf like jaw. His voice had broken the silence, startling the soldiers. Erebus raised an eyebrow, then slowly shuffled a letter under a pile of papers.

"Excuse my son, he hasn't been sleeping well. Now, men, I believe that you had something to tell him?" Erebus's voice seemed to chill the room, an uncomforting calm oozing from it. The soldiers looked to their leader. The leader cleared her throat, straightened her back, and extended her hand towards Taupe.

"Sir, I would like to congratulate you on your acceptance into the cross-continental academy acceptance program. As you know, you and three other students were hand-picked by the headmasters of each academy to spend one year at each academy and learn under the finest tutors of each nation." As the sergeant was saying this, Taupe slowly let his eyes wander down her neck, tracing her body down to her legs. Once she finished, Taupe snapped to attention, and pulled a lazy salute before shaking her hand.

"Thank you, sergeant. I apologize for my father's conduct, he hasn't been in the field since my poor mother left us. Who is your commanding officer?" Taupe continued to grin as he said this, keeping his eyes locked with the leader.

The leader paused for second before answering. "I'm afraid that I'm not allowed to tell you that sir. Now, if your business is finished, I believe we have some things to discuss with the former admiral." She brushed at her her immaculate uniform, as if to clean off imagined dirt, and began to look around the room.

Taupe cocked an eyebrow, his smile fading. "Understood. I'll be in my bedroom, if you need anything." With this, he left the foyer, and began to stroll back to his bedroom.

Once he reached his bedroom, he was again blinded by the headlights of the jeep. _Didn't anybody ever tell them to turn their goddamn lights off?_ With this, Taupe put on a shirt and snuck out the open window. The full moon cast more than enough light to see the lawn and driveway stretching to the jeep. Taupe swept across the area, gliding over the grass and pavement.

When Taupe arrived at the jeep, he opened the door, and slid into the driver's seat. Cautiously, Taupe pressed a few buttons on the dashboard. The lights were still on. Soon, he began dragging his hands across the dash, turning on and off lights within the cabin. The lights still seemed to taunt him. Taupe slapped the panel in frustration, but the lights continued into the night, laughing at his efforts.

Stepping out of the jeep, Taupe looked at the headlights with a malicious eye, his breath turning to mist in the cold night air. He quickly shattered the headlights, breaking both bulb and covering in one swift strike.

With this, Taupe confidently strode back to his window. A small trickle of blood, barely noticeable in the moonlight, ran from his knee, to his foot, and into the grass. Regardless, Taupe was smiling as he leapt through the window, stripped down, and crawled back into his bed.


	2. 0:2 - Acceptance of a Salesman

"Thank you mister Branwen. Do you need anything else?" Russet nervously eyed his customer, noting the hip flask and drunken demeanor of the Mr. Branwen. _I hope he doesn't trash the place again._

"No thank you. Although, I should probably ask you the same question, shorty." With this, Russet's searched for meaning in Mr. Branwen's face. "Russet Prague, have you ever gotten into a fight?"

Russet stuttered for a moment. "Sir, I… I don't think so, I mean, I had to help stop you from trashing the shop, but never anything that crazy." He reached under the counter, grasping for a water bottle to help cool his blushing face.

"You didn't seem the type. Never did understand Ozpin much. Either of the old folks hunters?" Mr. Branwen leant over the counter, exhaling a gust of boozy breath into Rus's face. Russet looked at the roof above him, imaging his parents trying to fight off the monstrous Grimm, or even a hooligan.

"No sir. They've both worked in this town for as long as they can remember." Russet nervously backed away from the counter as he said this, stumbling over his own feet.

Mr. Branwen leant away from the counter, resting his back against the thin wall. The shop seemed to lighten, as if a dark cloud had just passed. "Well, then. Orders are orders, I suppose. Ozpin wanted me to give you this." Mr. Branwen quietly slid an envelope with the official seal of Beacon combat academy over the counter.

Russet set his hand down on the envelope, feeling the silken material. "I'll be sure to give this to my parents when they wake up." He began to put the envelope in his pocket, but Mr. Branwen reached across the counter and held his arm.

"Nah-ah. It's for you. And you're going to open it right now." His grip was strong, and he kept his eyes locked with Russet's. Russet jumped at his touch.

"W-why? It's not like Ozpin would know about me." Russet tried to pull away, but Mr. Branwen's grip was firm.

"Apparently he does." Mr. Branwen kept his hold on Russet's arm, but slowly loosened his grip. As he did, Russet set the strange envelope back onto the counter.

"What's inside?" Russet kept his hands away from the envelope once it was on the counter, like he feared it would burn him. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Well, I can hardly tell you. Sometimes you gotta take the dive and accept the consequences, kid." With this, Mr. Branwen withdrew his hand from Russet's arm.

Russet slowly opened the envelope, peeling the seal off delicately. The paper crinkled as he did, the only thing audible aside from the soft crackling of the nearby torches and the two of them softly breathing.

Russet drew the letter out of the envelope, making sure not to tear the it in the process. As he slowly unfolded the letter, a small smile crept across Mr. Branwen's face. Russet read it slowly, mouthing the words as he did.

Suddenly, Russet dropped it on the floor, gasping. "I… I… what?" He recoiled from the dropped letter and envelope. "Mr. Branwen, are you drunk?" Russet slipped his hand under the counter, searching for the bell to wake his parents.

"Not this time kid. Ozpin wants you in Beacon Academy, in some sorta transfer program. Told me to deliver this letter myself. Pack your bags, we're leaving in the morning."

Russet stood for a second, dumbfounded. "Listen kid, either you're going upstairs and packing your bags or I'm draggin you to Beacon myself. Tonight." Mr. Branwen locked eyes with Russet again, standing on his two feet. Russet noticed his drunken demeanor had faded.

With this, Russet looked up towards his sleeping mother and father once again. He thought of how they had raised him never to get into trouble, and always avoid strangers. Mr. Branwen lightly punched his arm, shocking Russet back into reality. "Now, Prague. Oh, and, load up a couple of bottles of that Valesian Black. I've got a feeling this is going to be a long trip."

Russet carefully backed away from the counter, then bolted up the stairs to his room.


	3. 0:3 - Iridescence

Carn Vindictae set down his spoon, looking down at an empty bowl. HIs stomach growled, and he considered his surroundings. Pale walls, with the paint peeling off in large swathes, a dessicated television, and a bed that could probably be made of rats for how comfortable it was. The windows themselves seemed to block out the light, which was good, because the curtains had been shredded by moths and time. The motel room would've been cheap - had he payed for it.

A blue jacket hung on the door, as did two long, bladed katars. He walked over to them, picking up a rag and cleaning them off the weapons. He then donned his jacket, taking the katars and strapping them to his wrists. In the dim lighting of the room, the blades glinted, the only thing worth cleaning in this room. _Now, just gotta get out before security shows up._

Just as Carn reached for the door, there were three raps. Carn stumbled backwards, and fell into a crouch. He quickly shuffled over to the window, parting the curtains to look at the figures outside the door.

Three police officers in full uniform stood outside. Their suits and batons seemed out of place in the dirty hallway, but one was scraping gum off her boot. Carn sighed, shaking his head. He looked around the room, checking for any way he could get out without going past the police.

The door rattled in place, the leading officer becoming impatient. Carn sighed. No windows aside from the one he was next to, and crawling out there would be just as good as bolting out the door. He stood up, walked to the door, and lazily began undoing the lock. "Don'tcha know it's rude to go knockin' this early in the morning?"

He smiled momentarily, letting his words hang in the air. The police officers shuffled around outside, obviously waiting for him to barge out. Instead, he slid the door open, cautiously scanning them for weapons and the area for escape routes. "We received a complaint from the front desk that there was a squatter in this room. Sir, I'm going to have to ask that you come with us." The police officer who was scraping the gum off her boot sat cheerfully on a little knee wall across the hall.

"What if I don't want to? I got places to be, people to talk to." Carn shifted onto one leg, leaning against the doorframe. " 'sides, I'm sure if you asked the front desk, they'll say I coughed up some dough for this room." He rolled his eyes, checking his nails in the sunlight.

"Sir, I'm going to ask you to please take off the weapons and come with us. We need to take you in for questioning." The officer put one hand on his baton, and began shifting around like he was epecting a fight.

Carn put up his hands. "Alright, alright, you win. What's this all about?"

The officer let out a huge breath. "Like I said, sir. Got a squatting report. Just gotta clear you at the station."

A short car ride later, Carn was in a bright room with a long, wooden table and an aging inspector sitting across from him. "Well, we ran you through the systems. Not a trace of you." The inspector furrowed his eyebrows, and leaned forward in his large chair.

Carn leaned back, and stifled a chuckle. "Well, that's a good thing, right?" He raised his eyebrows, faking a frown. "Means I'm not a criminal."

The inspector grunted. "That's exactly the issue. Everyone born in Vale comes up, even if they've lived a model life." He slid a small folder across the table. "What we do have, however is a collection of photographs from other stations in the area." Carn gently opened the folder, peeking at the multitude of pictures inside. All of them were of him, at one angle or another.

"Well, that sucks. Who dya think took me outta your system?" Carn picked through the pictures occasionally stopping and examining one.

"You tell me." The inspector seemed push himself against the table - his gut preventing him from leaning any further in.

Carn shrugged, tossing the pictures he was holding into the air. "Who knows? You certainly don't."

"That will be quite enough, inspector." A man in a green suit and glasses had slipped into the room. He smiled slightly, carrying a cane in one hand and a coffee mug in his other.

"Professor Ozpin?" The inspector spun out of his chair, falling out of it just as much as standing up. "When did you arrive?"

"A few minutes ago. I'd appreciate if you left, I have some business with this young man." Professor Ozpin raised an eyebrow at the pair, meeting eyes with both Carn and the inspector before opening the door for the latter.

The inspector looked between Ozpin and Carn, then left the room. His footsteps and muttering could be heard as he trundled down the hall.

With this, Carn leant forward. "So, what. I squat in a hotel room and suddenly they send the best huntsman in Vale after me? That's hardly fair." Ozpin chuckled, taking a sip from his coffee mug. He then drew a chair out with his cane, and sat down in it.

"You know, Mr. Vindictae, for someone with a clean record, you've certainly done a lot in the past few years." Ozpin chuckled once again, playfully eyeing one of the pictures Carn threw. "I assume you know who I am."

Carn opened his mouth, then swallowed. "Yes, sir. You're the headmaster of Beacon academy." He sat straight up in his chair, dropping the delinquent act.

"Good. You know, we got an application you may like to know about. Now, normally we request that the student fill out their own application, but I think I can make an exception. After all, dedicated students are hard to find." Ozpin took another slow sip of his coffee, then put a packet of papers on the table. "Seems like someone wants you in my academy. I've been watching you over the past couple of weeks, and it seems you have what we're looking for. So, tell me, could you leave behind a motel room for a well maintained academy?"

Carn leaned back. His eyes were wide, and his face somewhat pale. Ozpin maintained a neutral expression, staring at Carn's face and eyes.

"I… I guess I have to, right?" Carn's words were barely audible, but they broke the silence like a pane of glass.

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to catch my ride to Beacon. Here's a ticket for the next Bullhead to the capital. I think you'll be at the academy once the year starts." With this, Ozpin strolled out of the room, closing the door behind him. Carn waited until the door closed fully, then began to pry a window behind him open.

A few minutes later, the inspector returned to an empty room covered in photos of a medium teenager with red hair and a blue jacket. A soft breeze blew in through the window, rustling the photos and cooling his skin.


	4. 0:4 - Malleability

"Again." The instructor's voice cut through the night air. Five bullets ripped through a bullseye downrange. "Not good enough. Again." Five more bullets tore through the target, all dead center.

Odan Galinstan ejected the empty mag, lying it to the side of his rifle. He laid down flat at his station, taking a deep breath in preparation for the coming beratement. The instructor marched over to him, examining the gun and the target downrange. "Perhaps there's a chance for you yet, Trainee Galinstan." With this, the instructor took out a long hand cannon. "You will not return to the barracks until you have a grouping the size of your fingernail."

Odan nodded from his prone position. "Yes sir." With this, he began examining the handgun. It had a delicately conducted handle, with the emblem of the Atlas army embossed on it. It was heavy, even for its large size. The instructor watched this, then began to march away, down a hill to the nearby dwelling.

Odan recognized the basics of this weapon. It had sat on his father's hip whenever he was working on another warmachine. However, many of the custom modifications had been stripped off, reducing what used to be more of a club to a simple handgun.

As the instructor walked away, Odan shifted positions, testing every stance he knew for handguns. Eventually settling on one, he sighted in on the target, and fired a succession of five shots.

All five struck the target, roughly in a frisbee sized grouping. Odan grunted, checking the gun for errors. Unable to find anything, he settled into the same shooting stance, and fired another five round burst.

These struck in a disappointingly larger grouping. He once again checked the handgun, snarling at the rebellious machine. On a wall nearby, rows upon rows of guns he had managed perfect accuracy with sat in glass cases. Odan's large, wolf-like ears flattened against his head.

After a moment of consideration, Odan laid the handgun down on the table, unloading the magazine and activating the safety. Suddenly, he noticed a small trigger near the bottom of the handle.

Odan grunted at the device, registering what it was. Many weapons he had trained with were single-phase, and could only take one form. Most weapons in the world were dual-phase, and could become either ranged or melee with a small switch.

With this, Odan marched over to a nearby lockbox. He opened it, running his fingers over the "Ray&Vav's" brand. Inside, a newly custom-made SMG laid inside. The soft moonlight made the barrel glint, and the handle had silver decorations running from it to the stock.

He quickly extracted the new toy from the box, smiling. Drawing the weapon up to a firing stance, he flipped the safety off, and squeezed the trigger.

This time, the five round burst hit the bullseye. All five dead center, all five in almost the same hole. Odan chuckled again, slightly shaking to warm himself. He unloaded the gun, and walked down the hill, towards the well lit dwelling.

Inside, he saw two grim-looking soldiers sitting around a table, silently eating large pieces of steak. In the corner, all of Odan's belongings had been packed into two large bags. One of the men coughed, and looked at the instructor. "Mr. Galinstan, I believe your son has returned."

The instructor raised an eyebrow. "Trainee Galinstan has yet to greet us." With this, Odan quickly set down the pistol and saluted the three men. "Sir, I have completed the task assigned, and returned with the your weapon."

The instructor nodded at his son. "Trainee Galinstan, at ease. That weapon has been passed through our family, and modified by each new holder. You will be using it during future assignments." Odan stood at attention, staring at the wall across from him. With this, Mr. Galinstan motioned to an empty chair at the table with a portion of steak. "Eat." With this, Odan sat down and began silently eating the meal.

After the meal had been finished, the two strangers looked towards Mr. Galinstan, who cleared his throat. "Trainee Galinstan, as you know, I recently requested your training be transferred to Atlas Academy. General Ironwood has accepted my request. You will be leaving after this meal." With this, the instructor stood from the table, saluted, and marched to his bunkroom down the hall.

The two soldiers quickly turned to Odan, eyes wide. As they heard Mr. Galinstan's door close, they let out a sigh of relief. "Command said that this would be punishment. She was right. How're you doing, little man? Living under an old man like that must be tough."

Odan looked at the table momentarily, contemplating his empty plate. "I am not permitted to comment about my commanding officer, and would recommend you do the same. When will we be departing, Sirs?"


	5. Temp Hiatus! - Expected to End Soon (TM)

Sorry folks!

Although in the future, I will try to maintain a roughly weekly update schedule, I will be taking a hiatus between Volumes/Semesters to allow the source material (the roleplay this is based on) to get ahead of the story again. In the mean time, please review and offer suggestions as to how I can improve this story or my writing style. Questions will be answered in short order!

-Alucard Cerbes


End file.
